


Tales from the Shire

by LiterallyThePresident



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Pre-Relationship, Scheming Balin, Storyteller Bilbo Baggins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyThePresident/pseuds/LiterallyThePresident
Summary: The company invites Bilbo to share stories by the campfire





	Tales from the Shire

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been on a Hobbit binge lately

“And wham!” Glóin boomed, “Two axes to the face took that bastard down real quick!” The company erupted into boisterous laughter, bellies full and hands warmed by the fire. Bilbo himself sat a little ways away, unwilling to intrude on their fun. So naturally it came as a slight surprise when Balin turned to him with crinkled eyes and asked him to come closer. Bilbo blinked in befuddlement, gulping when the eyes of the company fell on him.

“Oh, er, that’s perfectly fine, I-I don’t want to intrude-“

“Nonsense!” Kíli stood and pulled him in, and Bilbo was squished in between Ori and Kíli before he could so much as squawk, “Sit by us, tell us a story, master burglar.”

“There’s really no need to try and-“

“We’ve been talking all night, it’s your turn.” Fíli said with a grin, “Give us a break and let us listen to a story instead of telling it.”

“Well...” Bilbo saw no real reason to refuse, especially with Fíli guilting him like this, “I’m certain my stories aren’t nearly as exciting as yours.”

“Sometimes the mundane is a nice change of pace.” Balin said, “Don’t fear boring us, my dear lad. If we’re bored, you’ll know.” Dwalin sharpened his ax pointedly at that, and Bilbo gulped.

“Well, I suppose...” Bilbo scoured his mind for anything that these warriors may find at least vaguely interesting, “I’m sure I can think of some story to entertain.”

“Any mighty fights?” Dori asked.

“Battles of wits?” Ori leaned in.

“Celebratory feasts?” Bombur laughed.

“Well... there was the yearly summer festival a few years back.” Bilbo started, “It’s the festival we show off all our summer themed foods and flower arrangements. A-And the sunflower contest, where we’d compete to see who could grow the largest sunflower.” Ori was already smiling as if he could see it, and Bilbo himself could almost smell the floral scents and steaming sweetmeats of the festival. The summer festival wasn’t his favorite, he much preferred the autumn one, but he held many fond memories of it, “And then a fight broke out over by the petal piles.”

“Petal piles?” Ori cut in, blinking curiously.

“Yes. When the contest is over, any flowers the owners volunteer are plucked and the petals put in a huge pile for the little ones to play in.” Bilbo smiled, remembering diving into the colorful piles himself when he was a young lad.

“That sounds lovely.” Balin smiled fondly, “I can almost see it.”

“Can we do that when we reclaim Erebor?” Fíli asked Thorin, “For the celebration of Yule maybe?”

“Anyway.” Dwalin cut in sternly, getting them back on track, “The fight?”

“Ah, yes, apologies.” Bilbo said, “So we were all having fun, dancing and drinking and rolling in the sun, when comes this loud yelling and a noisy commotion. Apparently, Merwig Hornwood had accused Petunia Gamwick of _cheating_ to win the contest!” The dwarves grumbled a little, cheating was a serious accusation no matter where you went.

“How did she react? Glóin asked with a grin, “Did she bash his face in?”

“Did she rip his hair out?” Bofur asked.

“Murder his family in the night?” Nori asked, earning a startled look from nearly everyone.

“Er, no. Nothing like that.” Bilbo felt embarrassed again at not having sufficiently thrilling stories, “She flipped his table of jams and poured one heavenly smelling blueberry one over his head. There was complete uproar, I’ve never seen such a rowdy crowd. They very nearly trampled the communal rose gardens. Of course it turns out she didn’t cheat, and Merwig was sentenced to dishwashing duty for the rest of the festival.” The dwarves were quiet for a moment, staring at him, and Bilbo feared they may start laughing at him any minute. He wished he’d never opened his mouth, he must sound so foolish to them. They’d seen real mobs, real fights. His stories must sound so trivial and foolish.

“She was defending her honor!” Fíli declared loudly, breaking the silence, “Were she a dwarf, I’d buy her an ale!”

“Aye.” Dwalin nodded, “Twas a good story.”

“Tell us another one!” Kíli asked loudly, throwing his arm around Bilbo. Bilbo blinked, a little surprised.

“Well...” Bilbo glanced around, seeing the company waiting intently, all eyes on him, “I got into something of an altercation myself with Paladin Took once.”

“ _You_ got into an altercation?” Thorin asked a little incredulously, “You, who fainted at the very thought of a dragon?”

“Indeed I did.” Bilbo sniffed, and honestly, an irate neighbor and a _dragon_ were two very different things, “Her boy Peregrin crept into my garden one day and made off with every one of my tomatoes!”

“The gall!” Kíli exclaimed dramatically, an indulgent smile playing at his lips, not that Bilbo noticed. The indignation of that incident distantly rekindling. He didn’t care if the dwarves were indulging him, he’d never even received an apology from young Peregrin!

“I know!” Bilbo exclaimed right back, glad _someone_ understood, “It was absolutely unacceptable, and I told her as much. Very sternly, I might add. But her response, get this, was that lads will be lads! And then she acted as though I were overreacting, can you believe that?”

“No, I can’t.” Ori said, looking very invested in this thrilling tale of stolen tomatoes, “Some people.”

“Some people indeed.” Bilbo sniffed, “Now obviously I wasn’t going to let that stand. So I waited until nightfall, and then I nabbed each and every one of her prized parsnips.” The company tittered at that, and Bifur clapped him on the back. Thorin looked as though he were imagining the timid burglar irritably stealing from a garden, and finding the image to be very amusing.

“And that’s not all. I was still terribly cross.” Bilbo continued, “So I cooked it all up into a nice cream of parsnip stew. Then I approached her the next day with a sincere apology and offered her my lovely homemade stew to make up for my egregious behavior.” The company erupted into uproarious laughter, Bombur falling from his seat in glee.

“Did she ever find out?” Thorin asked, curious despite himself and slightly proud of the hobbit’s poetic spite.

“Of course she did.” Bilbo waved, “And oh, she was incensed. She boxed me ‘round the ears and hasn’t spoke to me since. I believe it was worth it.”

“Your life sounds absolutely charming.” Balin laughed, causing Bilbo to flush.

“Yes, well. We can’t all be daring dwarves on the hunt for adventure.” he said, nose twitching.

“I want to hear another story.” Fíli said eagerly, “Please Mister Boggins?”

“Baggins.” Bilbo corrected, “And I think not. I’ve already taken up enough of your time.” Fíli and Kíli protested, and Ori leaned in to murmur in his ear.

“Please, Bilbo?” he whispered, eyes pleading, “We’ve all heard each other’s stories. And yours are lighthearted and fun.” Bilbo felt a little bad now. He seemed to have some difficulty refusing Ori’s puppy eyes.

“Oh... alright.” he sighed in a put upon manner, choosing to ignore the way everyone’s faces brightened, and how it made his own heart lift, “There was an incident at my dear friend Hamfast’s home, if I recall, where my _dreadful_ relative Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had pounded on the door demanding an audience with me. As if I would spare that vulture the time of day...”

Having all eyes on him didn’t seem so frightening now, and the dwarves listened attentively with bright eyes and eager smiles as he wove his storytelling magic. It seemed like they spent all night asking for more tales from the Shire, and Bilbo himself was surprised to find a well of memories to draw from. Even Thorin had let his permanent glower fall away, unable to resist the thrall of Bilbo’s soft voice, his hands animating the stories, the sparkle in his eyes as he spoke.

“And then I turned to her,” Bilbo said, “And I said ‘Lobelia, my darling, if you lay a finger on my succulents, I’ll teach your brat the worst swear words I can think of’. She was absolutely scandalized, I truly thought she may burst, so red was her face.” Ori was giggling beside him, and Bombur’s laughs could have shaken the very rock they sat upon. Bilbo laughed with them, feeling lighter than he had since he left Bag End.

“This Lobelia sounds like a wretch.” Thorin’s voice was unexpected, but not unwelcome. As always, the thought of Lobelia set Bilbo scowling.

“Oh, she is!” he exclaimed, “You know I had to put a lock on my silverware drawer because of her? Not to mention all the poor doilies she’s made off with, as well as a cheese wheel straight from my pantry! I nearly pushed her into the Brandywine for that last one. And another thing...” He launched into his rant, heedless of the mirth of the others nor the satisfied look on Balin’s face. He didn’t notice the way Thorin’s eyes didn’t leave him once, nor the way his face had softened. He didn’t notice the soft curve of his lips, or the fingers that twitched as if they ached to touch him.

Balin did. And he smiled to himself for killing two birds with one stone in getting their burglar to open up _and_ getting their king to lighten up a little, if only for a night.


End file.
